


Catfished

by BlueEyesBlueSkies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Online Dating, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyesBlueSkies/pseuds/BlueEyesBlueSkies
Summary: Online dating in Modern Day Westeros. A Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark crackfic love story...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go! I don't have any plan for this story and am going to wing it from here on out. Updates will be irregular and sporadic, but I do intend to update. This won't be a very long fic, but I intend to pack it full of deliciousness, fluff, and fun.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

“What do you mean, you made me a profile?!?!” Sansa hisses, panic swirling as she sees the devilish smile on her best friend’s face.

“I mean, you haven’t been with anyone since you and Sandor broke things off _three years ago_ , so I am giving you a little push, darling,” Margaery replies with a saucy grin, mischief twinkling in her eyes. 

“But I-“

“Shh, shh,” Margaery cuts her off with a grin. “I’ve turned down a few _handsome_ offers because I just don’t think they are right for you, and I’ve had Renly download the app to your phone and install a screening mechanism to eliminate the duplicative profiles, so I believe you’re all set!

“All set for _what_?! Honestly Marg, you can’t seriously think that I will go on a date with an absolute stranger.” Sansa is livid, her cheeks flushed pink, and in the face of Margaery’s sly grin all she can do is sputter.

“Of course not,” Margaery scoffs. “I expect you to practice some light flirting, maybe a little sexting, and when you’re ready to meet someone you must tell Renly, Loras and I immediately so that we can be sure they are a proper person before you venture off.”

“We will discuss this later,” Sansa growls, as their assistant, Arianne, indicates their new clients from Lannister Industries have arrived. “Show them in,” she waves, letting out a suffering sigh.

“Oh my, well this is awkward,” Margaery whispers under her breath as they rise and come around the table, ready to welcome their guests.

“What?”

“I believe I turned down two of our new clients already on that app on your behalf,” she says out of the corner of her mouth with a cheeky grin, before sweeping her arms wide as the door opens fully and an army of gentlemen make their way into the long boardroom. “Welcome, Lannister family, to Flowerwolf Consulting, LLC! And, might I add, it is about time.” She waves with a wink and a flourish as first Tyrion, then Jaime, and finally Tywin Lannister shuffle into the room, followed by their legal representation, Stannis Baratheon.

Sansa swallows thickly, shaking each hand in turn, unable to meet anyone’s eye. Just who had Margaery rejected?

They take their seats as Margaery begins the presentation, detailing the exact plan for damage control they’ve developed in the face of yet another scandal for the Lannister clan. Between Robert and Cersei Baratheon it had been one misstep after another; finally, the old lion himself, Tywin Lannister, had suggested they hire an outside firm in the face of the recent crisis. The whispers of Robert’s whoring and Cersei’s drinking were already legendary, but apparently, even Cersei’s latest transgression in attempting to seduce her own cousin, Lancel, warranted some outside intervention.

Margaery had been hounding the Lannisters for weeks, sending report after report to each and every email address and making phone call after phone call to every number Arianne could get her hands on, and it seems they have finally landed the clients of the century.

Margaery is just answering a question from Tyrion when Sansa can’t help but let her mind wander back to the dating app on her phone and the two men in the room Margaery hadn’t deemed good enough. Studying each man in turn, she couldn’t help analyze with Margaery’s voice in her mind, trying to puzzle out which two had been brief prospects.

_Stannis Baratheon, divorced with a daughter. Older, receding hairline, strong hands. Sexy, but a little too dour_ , Margaery’s voice recited in her mind. Hmmmm, maybe. She didn’t necessarily agree that he was dour, though she could admit he was quite serious and seemed to lack the element of fun Margaery likely has in mind for this little foray.

_Tyrion Lannister, personality larger than life. Single, though the whispers of him and one of Baelish’s former ladies, Shae, have persisted for years_. No, can’t be him. Even she knew he and Shae were likely far more than they let on. Plus, Sansa has a suspicion Margaery wouldn’t actually reject him, were he a match.

_Jaime Lannister, bachelor, unattached likely for good. A bit of a hound in terms of the ladies; easy smile, kind eyes. On again, off again with a beautiful blonde bombshell, Brienne_. Jaime also keeps staring at her, a bit of a shocked look on his face, his eyes wide and his lips turned down in a frown. He seems like a strong candidate for denied-gentleman number one.

_Last but not least, Tywin Lannister_. As her eyes meet his across the table, Sansa can’t hide her blush as she turns her gaze quickly back to Margaery while her pulse starts to pound. She can’t even bring herself to consider Margaery’s thoughts on him because she can’t get past her inner self screaming _NOT HIM, NOT HIM, NOT HIM YOU IDIOT_. 

Tywin is, quite simply, the man of her dreams. He has held this title since she was fifteen years old and first able to attend his annual Yuletide Ball with her parents. Those piercing green eyes with a twinkle of mystery, the air of dominance and confidence he projects, the quick wit, and not to mention that _voice_. 

Gods, she’s slipped her hand down her panties more than a few times just thinking of any and every possible thing he could say to her in that _voice_.

Oh my, how she wish he were bachelor number two, but in her heart of hearts she knows he isn’t. For one, a man like Tywin Lannister would never be on a dating application. 

Second, Margaery would most certainly know better than to turn him down for her if he were.

No, it must be Stannis. A bit of a pity, really. She always wondered if there were a little more fire hidden beneath that cold exterior. Apparently Margaery has determined there is not.

“Ms. Stark, would you care to grace us with your opinion on the matter.” She can’t help but close her eyes as that _voice_ washes over her, until it smacks her in the face like a whack from Arya’s stupid little softball bat needle. 

He is speaking to her.

She has no idea what they’ve been discussing, has completely lost all sense of what is going on because all she can think about is him, and the most distracting part of all is that he has a hint of a challenge in his eyes as if he positively _knows_.

He can’t know, can he? That every single fantasy she’s had for the past ten years has been about him?

She’s speechless, stunned, completely in a trance and studying the flecks of gold in his bright green eyes as his lips tip up in a smirk while she hears Margaery cut in and come to her rescue.

_Why, oh why, could it not have been him?!_

~*~

“Well that went well, other than your utter lack of anything intelligible to contribute to the conversation,” Margaery admonishes with a gentle smile over their lunch at Chattaya’s Kitchen. 

Sansa sighs, an apology and a smile already at the ready as Margaery waves her off.

“I know, I know. Perhaps that wasn’t the best time to bring up the whole dating thing. Plus, I’m sure it didn’t help that a certain gentleman was in attendance.” Margaery sounds positively smug, and Sansa can’t help the wistfulness that overwhelms her.

“Ugh, why didn’t you warn me he was coming?! I just gaped like an idiot while you practically ran the entire meeting!”

“To be fair, I had no idea, as he was a ‘No’ to Arianne’s meeting request. Also, give me credit where it is due. I _did_ run the entire meeting, and based on the rather generous commission we will be receiving, I absolutely _nailed_ it.”

They grin and clink their mimosas in celebration, just as the beep of another match from that dreadful app pings on Sansa’s cell phone. 

It’s the fifth one since they sat down for lunch, and she’s already weary at the dismal prospects she’s scrolled through thus far. Once again, she can’t help but wish just once in her life fate would smile on her, and she’d finally get noticed from a man like Tywin Lannister.

She scoffs internally, forcing herself to acknowledge the truth. A man _like_ Tywin will never be as good as the real thing.

~*~

He hasn’t stopped thinking of her in her slick black stilettos and matching peplum dress, auburn hair straight and glittering with the morning sunlight. Sansa Stark is, without a doubt, what his sons would call a _knockout_.

He doesn’t give a thought to the difference in their ages, and hasn’t since she turned eighteen and swept into his ballroom with enough poise and grace to suggest she owned the place. He can still picture her now, slit up to her thigh, a sparkle in her eyes, blushing profusely as he paid her a compliment. She waved it off and could barely meet him in the eye, and for all these years he’s assumed her shyness was because he made her uncomfortable due to her lack of interest.

Now, after catching her gaze more than a few times as it strayed towards him in a meeting she quite truthfully _tanked_ , he wonders if perhaps the issue is something deliciously more. 

“Don’t feel bad, Lannister, she rejected me to,” Stannis replies sullenly across the back of the limousine. 

His thoughts are with Sansa until his interest is peaked, and he hears his son reply “it was as if she didn’t even think twice about the fact that we would both be seeing her later in the day!”

“Who?” He can’t help but ask, affecting a look of perpetual disapproval and boredom. 

“Don’t concern yourself, Father,” Tyrion quips, “these two fools both thought they actually had a chance with the lovely Miss Stark. Nevermind the fact that she rejected them each nearly out of hand, mere seconds after they’d sent messages they were interested.”

“You sought to court our Public Relations Representative mere hours before a meeting with her?” His eyes are shuttered, his expression dubious, and he is irritated and attempting to hide his confusion. 

No, confusion isn’t the correct term.

He is attempting to hide his jealous rage.

“Well, not exactly,” his older son begins, before Stannis interrupts gruffly.

“We each matched with her on that bloody app Shireen signed me up for, and she apparently rejected us on the spot.” 

“App?” He knows he shouldn’t have mused out loud, and his youngest son’s irritating laughter makes him want to strangle him.

“Oh, Father, you are truly out of touch. All eligible young lords and ladies who are _anyone_ nowadays meet each other via a neat little button right on their cellphone screen.”

His nostrils flare with the scent of a challenge, and he cannot help but send an email immediately to his assistant Jeyne. 

He intends to be fully up to date and on the hunt for Sansa Stark before his evening tumbler of Scotch.


	2. Chapter 2

_Technology truly is a marvel_ , he muses, pondering his opening remark to the lovely Sansa Stark. 

After firing Jeyne, who couldn’t keep her bloody mouth shut and her bloody nose out of his business, he immediately brought in reinforcements in the form of someone who would, most certainly, be unable to repeat the fact that his employer asked to be set up on a dating application.

App.

A dating _app_.

He really must practice with the proper language.

Ilyn’s gray eyes hadn’t flickered before he, with a gentleness that frankly stunned Tywin, plucked the phone from his grasp, deftly tapped touch screen, and returned it to him with a fully anonymous profile, ready to go on the little _app_ , a lion as his picture, _WinorDie_ as his _screen name_.

His eyes had narrowed as his lips pulled into a smirk. “Is there anything I need to know about this in order to proceed?”

Ilyn had thought for a moment, head tilted, before his cold eyes slid back to Tywin’s and he gave a slight shake of his head. _No_. 

“Very well. Thank you for your services, Mr. Payne.”

Now here he is, plundering through dating profile after dating profile, tumbler of Scotch in one hand and a sneer of derision taking over his countenance as he wanders down the rabbit hole that is _online dating_. He has no idea why a woman such as Sansa requires the _Internet_ to find a man, but Tywin is not one to pass by an opportunity when it presents itself.

He will find her profile, and he will make her _his_.

Several tumblers later and he’s close to quitting in disgust before the picture of a lone gray wolf catches his eye.

It couldn’t be her… could it?

~*~

“What do you think you’re doing?” Margaery screams into her ear, the settings of her speakerphone up far to high. 

Jumping with alarm and quickly swiping down the volume, Sansa breathes in sharply to catch her breath before responding, smiling at the sound of horns honking in the background. “You didn’t take out a pedestrian this time, did you?”

Margaery huffs and laughs, and Sansa can literally hear the tires squealing. “Life is very simple for me, Sansa. Green means go. It isn’t my fault nitwits can’t follow direct instruction in the form of a picture saying ‘walk’ or ‘don’t walk’.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and sends out a hug to the universe and the poor soul Margaery nearly ended this evening in her impatience to get to her date.

“Now, don’t think you can distract me from my purpose, my little Sansa. Why did you change your picture?”

Oh… _that_. Sansa grimaces, knowing she’s well and truly caught. “It was just so…” she breaks off, pondering what description she can use that will not come off as rude. “Desperate?”

She hears Margaery cackle with laughter, and knows that she knows what she’s really saying behind the coyness. “Cheap. The picture I picked of your head tossed back and your breasts pushed out made you look easy and cheap. Frankly, you looked like a cheap whore. I have no idea why you ever took that for Sandor, darling, that man was an absolute-“

“Margaery!” Sansa cuts in with a growl paired with a grimace, even if Margaery can’t see it.

“But a _beautiful_ , cheap whore, darling, and beauty is what’s most important.” She can visualize Margaery’s smirk, and a tiny part of her deep down is put out by it and a little bit hurt.

She opts to respond with levity instead, and changes the topic. “Beauty is most certainly _not_ what’s most important. Besides, what kind of man would I have attracted with that image of me? Aren’t you the one saying I need someone new?”

“My dearest, darling Sansa, you would have attracted the distracting kind. The _right_ kind,” Margaery returns, horn honking in the background as she hears her scream a host of obscenities at another unfortunate pedestrian. Sansa sends the universe and poor person in her path another hug. “The kind who will put a pep back in your step. A hip back in your hop. And a thick, juicy cock in your-“

“I get it! I get it!” Sansa nearly screams, cutting her off as they both tumble into laughter. “But truly, it was just too… blunt. It wasn’t me at all.”

“Need I remind you the purpose of this little foray? You need to get your confidence back. You need to recall why you were _always_ far too good for the likes of some motorcycle meathead with thick scars on his face, not that those weren’t rather dashing in their own right now that I recollect. Do you know, he very well could have been some misunderstood knight in another-“

“Alright, alright,” Sansa interrupts drily, rolling her eyes as she paces across the worn shag rug covering the hardwood floor in her bedroom. 

“Anyways, back to bluntness. Do you know, my darling sex kitten-to-be, that bluntness can sometimes be quite-“

“Good gods,” Sansa breaks in again, “is _sex_ truly all you think about?” 

Margaery cackles again, and Sansa hears her tires squealing before all of a sudden there’s a small little _bang_. “Oopsies. Really, who needs this many flowerpots lining their drive anyways,” she mutters clearly to herself, as Sansa hears the door swing open and the sound suddenly come from much closer to Margaery’s mouth. “Now, any hits? You know I need something delicious to tide me over while I am forced to partake in a nightcap with Gran, who I’m sure is even now peering through the curtains wondering why I’ve been out so late.” 

Sansa sighs, shaking her head. “Give my best to Olenna, please. And no, no _hits_ yet, and I truly don’t even know why you…. Oh.”

Another ping, and she glances at her inbox on her laptop to see a new message from _WinorDie_. Good gods, what a dramatic name. 

Naturally, it catches her eye immediately, and she can’t help but open the message.

“Oh? What do you mean ‘Oh’?” Margaery is whispering, clearly stalling at the entry, waiting to hear more before she makes her presence known.

“I have a new message from quite the depressing suitor. ‘Win or Die’, indeed,” she offers, clicking the message and scrolling past the automated portion from the app to see the actual text.

Her jaw drops, and heat suffuses her pale cheeks.

“Got to go,” Sansa mumbles, clicking off the phone as Margaery starts to bristle.

Good _gods_. 

Her cheeks are flushed, and she slams her screen shut with so much force she fears for a second she may have cracked the thing.

She wanders into her kitchen, taking the chilled pear wine out of her refrigerator, glancing in the direction of her wine glasses before mumbling “oh, sod it” and just popping off the top and swigging right from the bottle.

She plops back down at her desk chair, takes another swig of courage, and then gently opens up the screen once more, eyes re-reading the message.

It takes several more long pulls on the wine before she’s ready to admit that, despite her better judgment, she is actually going to respond.

**Lady_Wolf,**

**Which, do you suppose, matters most? The means, or the end?**

**I often find that in most endeavors, only the end holds meaning, and the means is insignificant.**

**In a select few pursuits, however, the journey is nearly more than the result, for without the journey, oftentimes the result is rather unimportant.**

**I have one question for you. Only one.**

**Would you care to journey and explore the means with me?**

**~WinorDie**

Sansa’s heart is jumping in her breast as her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth with nervousness. She chews on her bottom lip, takes several rather generous gulps of wine, and plucks out a response, hitting send before her nerves get the better of her.

**WinorDie,**

**Yes.**

**~Lady_Wolf**

~*~

Tywin’s email application pings, and he flips it open to see a new message from Lady_Wolf. 

His smile is positively feral, his eyes gleaming, as he raises his glass in salute to her before downing the remaining scotch.

_Yes._

He knows without a doubt, he will ruin her for other men. He draws on his cigar, rolling the edge between his graceful fingers before allowing the smoke to drift out from between his lips to perfume the air before him. He ponders how he wants to begin as he finishes his cigar, and over the ashes finally sends her a reply several hours later.

**Lady_Wolf,**

**I am not a man to be trifled with. I am respected, and I am feared. I always play to win. I only lose when I intend to. I am not a man who accepts the word ‘No’ as anything beyond an insult, barring a select few circumstances, wherein it becomes quite the challenge.**

**Now, let me tell you something about you. You are a woman who has yet to truly be inspired. You are a woman who is often admired, considered beautiful, and then placed back on the shelf like a doll with no real depth. You need adventure. You need a challenge.**

**You need, quite simply, a man.**

**~WinorDie**

~*~

**WinorDie,**

**Well, you are a rather bold one, aren’t you. I’ll give you points for originality, that’s for certain.**

**What I need is a distraction. A variance from the norm. A re-set, if you will.**

**Is that the type of service you are in the business of providing?**

**~Lady_Wolf**

~*~

**Lady_Wolf,**

**Aren’t I already?**

**~WinorDie**

~*~

**WinorDie,**

**As it is now three in the morning on a Tuesday, yes, I do suppose you are.**

**Tell me three things about yourself that I can ponder while I fall asleep.**

**Here, I’ll start. One, I love the smell of a fresh spring rain as it sweeps across the pavement, wiping the world clean. Two, I firmly believe there’s not much a good cup of tea can’t solve. For times when tea is lacking, a good wine will do the trick. Three, as cliché as it sounds, I fear I must leave you with this. All’s fair in love and war.**

**So, WinorDie. What are your three things?**

**~Lady_Wolf**

~*~

**Lady_Wolf,**

**I prefer espresso to tea, and scotch to wine.**

**I do not play well with others, and am ruthless when in pursuit of a goal.**

**I most decidedly agree, all is fair in love and in war.**

**As I am feeling particularly generous, I will treat you to a fourth.**

**Picture, if you will, this moment.**

**There’s a drizzle outside, and the world is cast in grays. You are in your office, or wherever it is you conduct your business, and I enter the room to stand behind you as you gaze out the window to watch passersby, bright pops of colorful umbrellas darting here and there between the manicured trees on the sidewalk below.**

**The heat of my chest warms your back, and you cannot help but shiver slightly when I raise a hand to brush your hair to one side, exposing the long curve of your neck and the top of your shoulder.**

**It is this moment of anticipation, as you hold your breath and I inhale the scent of you in the crook of your neck, that makes life worth it. This moment of waiting; this moment of in between. When we haven’t yet touched but we’re close enough to feel anyways.**

**The breath that is held, when my lips haven’t yet whispered over your pale skin. The flutter of lashes, as you lower your eyes. The sigh, just before the contact. Before the fall.**

**These and a thousand other small moments all cascade into a waterfall of sensations, feelings tumbling over one another resulting in a drowning of passion, even when we’ve yet to succumb to the merest touch.**

**This is the journey I would lead you down, my Lady_Wolf, if you would but take a step in my direction.**

**~WinorDie**


	3. Chapter 3

“A step?! Good gods, Sansa, if I were you I’d be in a dead _sprint_ to get to this man,” Margaery murmurs over her morning cup of tea, scanning the messages Sansa on Sansa’s cellphone screen. They are in Margaery’s office, Sansa sitting across Margaery’s desk, a nervous smile tugging her lips.

“I _know_ ,” Sansa sighs wistfully. She carefully spreads a layer of cream cheese on her blueberry bagel, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“So, what did you reply to this latest message?” Margaery takes another sip of tea as she quirks an eyebrow and thumbs back through the messages once more. 

Sansa shrugs, gesturing helplessly. “What is there to reply? I can’t keep up! I haven’t a clue what to say!”

Margaery suddenly appears entirely too innocent, and before Sansa can blink she’s tapping furiously into her phone, throwing up a body block that, unfortunately, serves as quite an effective shield while Sansa leans all the way over and tries to reach around her to pry it out of Margaery’s surprisingly tight grasp.

“What are you- STOP! Margaery, stop it! Don’t you dare-“ she grunts with effort, inadvertently smearing cream cheese all over the blouse of her dress “don’t you dare, you little-“

“Sent!!” Margaery is smiling triumphantly as she hands back the phone and straightens her skirt as she shifts her legs in her desk chair. “Goodness, Sansa, no need to be so hostile,” she winks. “Also, I hope you have a jacket or extra dress or something, because you seem to have had a bit of a mishap.”

“Have you lost your- What do you, How could you… Oh, _gods_. I did not need this today! What did you _say_?!” She’s scrubbing at the knit with her napkin, but the stupid spread simply refuses to remove itself from her person. Giving up with a huff, she flips her phone over and stares at the screen, irritation collapsing into a blank look as a blush steals over her cheeks, spreading down to her neck to the top of her chest.

**WinorDie,**

**I wonder… how far, exactly, does your generosity extend? You ask that I take a step in your direction; tell me, how would you make it worth my while?**

**~Lady_Wolf**

“This is indecent!” Sansa shrieks, shooting a glare at a cackling Margaery. 

Margaery shrugs, opens up her laptop, and begins to settle in for a morning of prep work for the day’s meetings. “It is harmless flirting. Lighten up a little, darling. Have a little fun!”

“This is not innocent flirting, Margaery,” Sansa huffs. “This is…” her voice drops to a whisper, “ _sexting_.”

Margaery just shoos her out of the office with explicit instructions that she is to drop everything and come find her the very moment WinorDie responds.

~*~

Tywin’s phone beeps with an incoming message, and he allows the smirk to spread when he sees it is a response from Sansa, or really, from _Lady_Wolf_. His plane to Braavos has just landed, and he’s debating whether to view it now or later when a chuckle emerges from his right, causing him to close the screen decidedly.

“Don’t worry, Tywin, we are all doing it,” Roose Bolton says wryly, a shrug and lift of his brow greeting Tywin’s stare. 

Tywin snorts, shifting his eyes back to the window to watch the plane taxi. “I’m certain I don’t know to what you are referring.”

Roose actually _tsks_ at him, gaze narrowed before he shifts to the window on his side. “Come now, Tywin. Coyness does not become you. There’s nothing wrong with finding a lovely young _distraction_.”

Tywin cuts him a glare, wondering if Roose is perhaps one of the men hounding Sansa’s profile. “I have no need for distractions,” he replies, infusing enough boredom into his tone that he hopes Roose drops this once and for all. Sansa may be many things, but she is most certainly not a _distraction_.

She is a necessity.

Roose scoffs, bringing his own phone out of his pocket and flipping it open to the profile of none other than his other PR Consultant, Margaery Tyrell. “Of course, Tywin,” he says sarcastically, “I have no need for distractions either.”

Tywin swallows thickly and shifts in his seat, pondering when his life turned into a _Who’s Who_ dating show of Westeros. Earlier this morning, he overheard Stannis telling Tyrion that he was considering going after the Tyrell girl himself, also waving around his cell phone screen. 

He hates that he feels like a gossipy old hen.

He hates even more that he can’t help but pull his own device back out in order to read Sansa’s reply.

He decides, exactly thirty seconds later, that he can bloody well hate himself forever, because the heat that shoots down his spine is more than worth any embarrassment he may briefly feel over the opinions of Roose Bolton.

The little wolf appears to have a lovely little _bite_ , too.

~*~

“He’s responded!” Sansa shouts from her open office door. She hasn’t even had time to read it herself before Margaery emerges in a pant, pink toes peaking out from under her trousers, not even having bothered to slip her heels back on.

“Well?!”

“Lady_Wolf” she begins, forgetting Margaery is in the room, forgetting to even _breathe_ as she reads aloud, “My dear, my level of generosity would have your chest heaving, your thighs quivering, and your head tossed back screaming my-“ 

Her screen suddenly turns black, an incoming call rudely hijacking her screen, as she sucks in a choking breath. 

It does not escape her notice that the caller is none other than the owner of the voice she pictures when reading each and every one of _WinorDie_ ’s messages. 

Sansa lets out a shriek and drops the damn thing with a clatter to her desk, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as the name continues to flash and her head spins with the images and uncomfortable sensations flowing over her skin from the message from _WinorDie_.

“Oh for the love of Gods, Sansa,” Margaery mutters, plucking up the phone and thumbing across to accept the call as Sansa continues to shake her head _no_.

She cannot process what is happening, for at the very moment she is reading about tossing her head back, and it occurs to her that it is _Tywin’s_ voice in her mind, it is none other than _Tywin himself_ who calls her. 

She struggles wrap her mind around the uncanny timing he seems to have as she overhears Margaery answering the incoming call.

“Sansa Stark’s phone, Margaery speaking,” Margaery answers with a maniacal grin. 

She hears his voice, and cringes as she accepts the phone from Margaery, answering a far too breathlessly for a business call. “Hello, Mr. Tywin.” 

Her eyes pop open, wide with horror, as she processes what has just come out of her stupid mouth, while Margaery erupts into a fit of giggles and collapses into a chair. _Why, oh why, did she just call him Mr. Tywin?!_

“Hello, Ms. Stark. No need to be so formal,” he rumbles into her ear, sending shivers down her spine as heat infuses her cheeks. She’s not sure she will ever overcome her current level of embarrassment at his wry tone. That is, until she utters the next mortifying sentence.

“O-of c-course, Mr.- er… Tywin,” she finally stutters out, sending Margaery into another tumble of laughter while her eyes sting with mortification. Her head spins, her thoughts race a thousand miles a second, and she once again cannot seem to hold a thread of conversation when his voice flows over her once more.

“Yes,” she hears him try to stifle a chuckle, “Well, I was hoping you would be willing to provide me an update once I return to Braavos.” Oh, _gods_ , that voice. It is apparently just as delicious over the phone as it is in person.

“An update,” she says blankly, thoughts in a jumble over the very fact that _Tywin Lannister_ has called her and they are speaking on the phone about… _something. What did he say about an update?_

“Yes,” he says slowly, with a hint of annoyance, “on the progress, Ms. Stark.”

“The progress,” she echoes, praying to all the gods she can think of that she will spontaneously combust and this embarrassing encounter will finally end, once and for all. She cannot grasp why on earth he is calling her, and has the brief, mortifying thought that perhaps he somehow just _knows_ that it is _his voice_ she fantasizes to over each and every message from her Internet paramour.

He huffs with impatience and breaks through her musings, not even bothering to mask his irritation. “With the marketing, Ms. Stark. I want a progress report on how we will spin my daughter’s latest transgressions with the press.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, ‘oh’” he drones, and she swears she can actually _feel_ his eyes rolling over the phone.

“Certainly, Mr. La- Tywin. Right, well let me just get my-“

“ _Ms. Stark_ ,” he cuts in. She is quite certain he will fire them for her incompetence as she can’t even appear to have a simple _call_ with the man without sounding like an idiot, and is preparing to tender her resignation to Margaery on the spot as he continues. “I apologize if my direct instruction was unclear,” she can tell by his tone that he knows it was anything but, and she wonders why she can’t seem to pull it together around this man. “I would like an update upon my return from Braavos, not immediately over the telephone.”

“Oh!” _He wants to meet?_ Oh, _gods_ , she simply cannot bomb a third encounter. How would she ever live that down? 

“As my schedule is quite _tight_ , I hope you will accommodate and agree to meet with me at _Robert’s Rebellion_ for drinks and a discussion tomorrow evening, after my flight lands. I have a dinner to attend across the street at nine, and would prefer to speak before then, so let’s say seven, yes?”

“Seven,” she repeats, dizzy at the thought of meeting Tywin Lannister for drinks at the swankiest pub in Westeros on a Thursday evening, as if it is the most casual thing in the world.

“I will take your repetition as an affirmative response,” he says drily. “Tomorrow night then, seven o’clock sharp. Do not be late, Ms. Stark,” while his words are a warning, his tone is nearly a taunt, and she wonders at the undercurrent of lust she swears she feels coursing through.

“Oh, yes, Tywin, seven,” she replies breathlessly, cursing herself for what might be the ten thousandth time this minute. How in the seven hells is she supposed to have drinks with this man, _alone_ , and manage not to lose the account?!

There is a pause before he practically purrs into her ear, his parting words leaving all thoughts of the message from _WinorDie_ momentarily forgotten. “I look forward to meeting with you, Sansa.” 

The call ends with a click, and Sansa sinks back into her desk chair as Margaery simply gapes at her. 

“My, my, my,” Margaery’s smile is catlike and more than a little devious. “Look who has secured a _tete-a-tete_ with none other than Tywin Lannister?”

Sansa blushes and smiles weakly, picking up her phone once more to see the note from _WinorDie_ staring back at her. Deciding she simply can’t face this message once more until she has some liquid courage, she clicks the phone off and settles in to prepare for her meeting with Tywin tomorrow evening.


End file.
